Why would Jackalopes, a species of supposed “mythological proportions”, prefer the taste of Mexico when they are born bred and corn fed in the fields and farms of North Dakota?
If you have read my novel, “50 Shades of Jackalope Hunting”, you know that I am a keen and skilled jackalope hunter, a skill that was handed down generation to generation in my family. I have bagged, tranquilized, and even napalmed a fair share of the horned, savage fiends but I have not studied them nor rallied for a conservation effort in their name. The latter is to come but as for now, I want to focus on the journey of the Jackalope.
My journey began September of last year here, in North Dakota, the breeding grounds for many species but Jackalopes in particular, a fact that most locals find amusing and annoying.
“Them things destroy my yard, every year, they do,” complained Maggie Sue May Fan, a 102-year-old farmer from outside Grand Forks. “The shed them antlers so they rub ‘em all over ever’thing, my cat included. I gotta replant the grass every year n’ my garden is ransacked every fall but I don’t mind much, they’re neat n’ it’s worth the looks I git when deer hunters come ‘round looking at the thous’nds of rubs I hav’ on my trees. (Pauses to laugh with tears in her eyes) Them boys come here, supplicatin’, askin’ ‘Please missus, can we hunt yer land?’ I always say yessum’ and they always leave empty handed, wide-eyed, slack-jawed. I tell ‘em, it’s them Jackalopes, but they never believe me, not sure why.”
According to Wessels and Farthing (1324), Jackalopes “make homes wherever they can from farmsteads to abandoned houses to local grocery stores. [They] ransack an entire area before moving on.” Their findings went on to discover that there was no rhyme or reason to their movements; they simply go wherever they can “create the most destruction in the shortest amount of time” (1998).
By mid- October, the Jackalope decided to go Far East to Detroit where they seemed to go into a kind of hibernation. They slept for hours and hours in abandoned car factories only to wake up, drink motor oil, and fall back into a coma-like state.
When my vigil seemed unnecessary, I went out to see what native Detroitinites thought of the onslaught of Jackalope. The answers I received varied but seemed to all sound quite similar, they included, “are you insane?” “Are you homeless?” “Why do you smell like the inside of a mold-ridden house?” “How did you get into my house?” “Jackalopes exist? In Detroit? Do you need some help?” (Field notes 25,3,7,29)
The Jackalopes must have sensed the Michiganites’ displeasure for their arrival because they quickly headed west towards North Carolina, south to Alabama and east to Texas (possibly inaccurate field notes 3?, 7.5, and 12).
When we arrived in Texas, the derelict school bus I had been using to discretely stalk my prey had broken down so I had to make the rest of the journey on foot. The Jackalopes didn’t seem to mind and started to come around to a human in their midst.
It seemed that the southern heat calmed them. They began to act as civilized as beasts with horns growing out of their heads can, and stopped ransacking every store and town they came across. In fact, they began ignoring everything altogether and increased their speed towards, to my eye, an invisible target.
Physically, the jackalope began to resemble stressed-out college students battling through midterms to make it to spring break (field note 10 in conjunction with Titus and Dixie, 1986). Their eyes bulged red in the sockets, they drooled, they pulled all-nighters and battled with one another over the last scrap of coffee.
By the time the Mexico boarder was in sight, the Jackalopes moved with a frenzied pace. I, a mere human to their mythical power and strength, lagged behind until I heard the unmistakable call of the mating Jackalope.
Once over the boarder, I crawled over a ridge and fell to my knees, exhausted, as hundreds of Jackalope jumped over my back. Human has never recorded what met my eyes that fateful night.
A full-on jackalope rave had broken out, fueled by the native tequila. It seemed that Jackalopes from all across the country were there to party it up with their long-lost cousins and friends.
I watched in rapt attention until just before daybreak. All the jackalopes had passed out and were motionless heaps on the desert ground. Just as the sun broke the sky, all sat up. I looked to see what they were watching so intently. Seeing nothing, I looked back down to see a million jackalope eyes staring straight at me.
I remember a stampede, the sound of a blood-curdling scream and then nothing. I woke up in my bed six months later with a strange propensity towards raw meat and fresh tequila.
No one could tell me what happened. I was found alone in a desert, bloodied and gouged with what looked like thousands of tiny horns. My rehabilitation has been going along quite well . I plan to return to the hallowed jackalope hunting grounds as soon as I remember where they are.
In conclusion, Jackalopes have a mighty, proud history of drunken debauchery, destruction and garden eradication. They are crude and live much like the gunslingers of the Wild West, full of bravado and cheap whiskey.
The reasons for their quest for good tequila is still unknown, as I lost much of my field research in the middle of that hot field that day but fortunately, some was saved, wrapped in my Frogg Togg waders I just happen to have with me, in the middle of Mexico, in a desert.
From what I gather, the monsters do whatever they please whenever they want to and go to Mexico every year to vacation with their friends and drink tequila, a welcome change from the sludge they imbibe back home.
This year in the wilderness has taught me one thing for certain-revenge is sweet. The jackalopes of North Dakota may have won that battle but I will surely win the war.
 This mythological notion of the mighty beast began sometime during the Paleolithic age and was perpetuated henceforth through cave drawings and idle banter at local Irish pubs around the time Stonehenge was being erected. Although many (read: not really many at all, to be honest) writers and hunters have accounted their experiences with the horned monsters, the tales are seen as falsified with no “verifiable evidence” to “back up their claims” (Rouge and Dead, 1445). This author has hunted these beasts with great success, thus throwing yet another wrench into the “experts” arguments, although their stagnant refusal of the species may be advantageous for hunters of Jackalopes because it makes it easier to hunt them with a more sparse playing field and less players but, I digress, back to the article then, yes?
 It may have not seemed that I stopped writing because “I” continued writing on my blog and posting pictures on social media outlets such as Facebook and Twitter but these were done by my highly-trained rescues who made it appear that I had not disappeared into the wilderness to study an animal many believe fictitious. It was about what everyone would think, you know, I don’t want anyone thinking I’m some crazy person, living in a cave, watching for horned rabbits to make their way across county, it would be preposterous!
 As of 2014, The Jackalopes Forever, Unlimited Foundation, Federation, and Organization of the United States and Outlying Countries and Uzbekistan, will be up and running. It will be almost-not-for-profit (a girl has to make a couple dollars, you know?) and will focus on conserving the territory of the Jackalope, which is approximately the size of North America, South America, the Indian Ocean, Australia and Nebraska combined.
 A quandary frankly, I’m not sure if I can answer, something I should have thought about before starting this paper, I think.
 Actually, there is rhyme to the Jackalopes as it has been found that they are excellent rappers, beat-boxers, and have been known to create beautiful iambic pentameter haikus.
 You would not believe the hours and hours of footage I have of sleeping Jackalopes, it does not make for good television. I burned them all in a ritual fire when I finally arrived back home. I danced around the fire in celebration- it was a lovely day.
 Except they began to surround and stare at me intently while I slept. I’d wake up to a whole heard of Jackalope around me, taking bets on when I’d wake up. Note: Jackalopes gamble on inconsequential occurrences.
 Meaning they stopped trying to kill me anytime I turned my back. This, in the beginning, was quite terrifying but the number of crudely fashioned arrows flying towards my head began decreasing as our journey continued.
 It sounds like the moo of a cow with the mew of a cat and the growl of a lion covered with the bugling of an elk.
 This was not what I signed up for. I wanted a “March of the Penguins” finale with loving families sacrificing everything for the continuation of the species, not a drunken-debauchery post-mid-term party.
 Although I still scream and find the nearest shelter when bunnies hop through the yard. Our neighbors find this hilarious.
 What was I writing about again?